What's A Normal Birthday Anyway? Clint Aged 17
by weemcg33
Summary: Next in the 'Sanctuary' Universe. After a nasty run in with a new recruit, Clint is given the opportunity to show why he is given free rein of the SHIELD base by competing on the new parkour course. Suggested by kimbee. Rated T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing :(

Author's Note: Well I'm still alive lol I just want to apologise to all you readers who have been waiting patiently for this story. As it usually does, life had gotten in the way of my ability to write, between health issues, family problems and finding out I would be out of a job a few weeks before Christmas has made it very hard to concentrate on anything lately. So I hope you all forgive me ;)

Summary: After a nasty run in with a new recruit, Clint is given the opportunity to show why he is given free rein of the SHIELD base by competing on the new parkour course.

Massive thanks to my beta DevinBourdain; as always!

This story was suggested by kimbee and will be 5 chapters long.

Enjoy!

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_"Forgiveness has nothing to do with absolving a criminal of his crime. It has everything to do with relieving oneself of the burden of being a victim-letting go of the pain and transforming oneself from victim to survivor." _  
― C.R. Strahan

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"Clint, can you please stop doing that?" Molly stated with a hint of exasperation as the teen continued tossing scraps of paper into the trash can on the opposite side of the small briefing room. If she wasn't so worried about the sixteen year olds unfocused and restless attitude over the past few days, she might have been impressed at how he'd managed to get every piece of paper to drop out of sight and into the small can from the angle he was sitting.

"Sorry Molly." Leaning back in his chair, Clint stretched his arms behind his head and twisted his neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks from sitting in one position for so long.

The tutor put down the file she was reading over and studied the blond in front of her. He was careful to avoid eye contact but she was sure she'd noticed his lips quirk upward before it was carefully hidden. She almost thought she'd imagined it. Molly's eyes drifted down to the test paper in front of the teen. "What's wrong? Do you need a hand with one of the questions?"

Clint shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Nope. Finished it ages ago."

Molly gaped at him. "Why didn't you say so? I could've started marking it up already."

"Didn't want you giving me more work to do." Barton laughed at the older woman's glare, pushing the finished test paper toward her waiting hands.

"Go then smart ass. Get out of here before I do give you something else to do."

Clint was out of the chair, bag slung over his shoulder and standing at the door in a flash. He shot a grin over his shoulder. "Bye Molly." He chuckled as a scrunched up bit of paper was hurled towards his head, though it missed spectacularly. The teen could hear the muffled grumble from his tutor, about wishing she had the perfect aim, as the door clicked shut. He sighed in relief that he was finally finished for the weekend. No more tests, no more homework, just him and his dad celebrating Clint's seventeenth birthday. He'd never admit to Molly how much he still enjoyed learning everything she taught him; his thirst for knowledge was just as strong as it had been in the beginning. Yet he did like having some time to himself, especially with his birthday falling on a weekend. He hoped they were going to go look at cars, the old banger he was currently using was on its last legs. It did the job of getting him from A to B, and while Clint had been over the moon to get any type of car, he was feeling much more confident in his abilities as a driver and hoped he could get something slightly newer this year.

Clint checked the time, wondering how much longer his dad was going to be. The agent had been loaded down with paperwork lately, more so than usual and knowing that the older man had chosen to give up being a field agent, for now, made the teen feel a little guilty about the headaches his dad had been complaining about recently. He decided he'd head up to his dad's office a little earlier to help him out if he could, or at the very least keep him company and forego his usual hour spent in the training gym. Then they could go home and relax, maybe order take out and settle in front of the television with a movie.

He was almost half way to his dad's office when he felt his phone vibrate. Fishing the cell phone out of his pocket, he swiped his finger across the screen. It was a message from Tommy asking if he was willing to drive over to see him once he got his new car. From the many conversations he and the younger boy shared, Tommy was aware that Clint's current car wouldn't be able to make the journey. Barton text back that he'd let him know as soon as he bought his new car, with Phil's help of course.

It took almost ten minutes to walk from the briefing room where he was tutored by Molly, to Phil's office on the other side of the base. With a soft tap, tap on the door, he waited for his dad to answer before entering. Clint had learned that particular lesson a few months back when he walked in without knocking and Phil had been in the middle of giving two recruits a thorough dressing down. Clint had backed out quickly with a mumbled apology.

"Come in."

Clint pushed the door open and headed towards the sofa in the corner of the large office, giving his dad a mock salute as he passed him by. He dropped his bag on to the floor beside the chair and flopped down on to the soft cushions with a sigh.

"You alright?" Phil asked, breaking the moment of silence.

"Yeah," the teen responded, as he reached for his bag and pulled out his game console. Turning back to his dad, he asked. "How long are you gonna be?"

"Not long," Phil promised, his attention turning to his phone when it started ringing.

Barton tuned out his dad's conversation and turned on his Nintendo DS. He was determined to get past the last level he'd been having difficulty with while he waited for Phil to finish his work.

Clint stretched back into the soft cushions of the sofa, chewing his bottom lip in concentration as he attempted to complete the task at hand. He pressed the buttons hard, probably harder than was strictly necessary for Mario to jump over the gaping hole and then bounce on top of the mushroom to finally finish the current level. A wave of satisfaction rushed over him as he waited for the next level to begin loading. A stifled snort had him looking away from the screen and raise an eyebrow at Phil, who was watching him with an amused expression.

"Having fun?" he asked with a knowing smile, while sorting the piles of paperwork into some semblance of order on his desk.

"Yeah, finally got past that level. You know how important it is for me to complete a challenge." Clint decided to save the game, seeing that his dad was putting everything into order and that meant they'd be leaving soon. He couldn't wait for this weekend; Phil still wouldn't tell him what he had planned for his seventeenth birthday, but if it was anything like his previous birthdays' with the agent, he knew he'd love it. Even after last year's fiasco, being knocked down and laid up for weeks before he was able to start physio and attempt to get himself back to his previous fitness, the teen had still had an amazing birthday and having his grandparents come to stay was had been the icing on the cake.

"Uh huh and what challenge would that be?"

"Tommy bet me I couldn't get past level ten by this weekend and guess what, it's just been completed," Clint bragged, blue eyes sparkling in delight. He couldn't wait to tell his younger cousin.

Chuckling, Phil pushed back his chair and stood, stretching his aching muscles and wincing as something cracked audibly. He saw Barton glance sharply towards him, worry clouding his features until he realised the older man was fine, just a little creaky.

Phil rubbed the sore spot near the bottom of his spine and sighed, he was getting too old. Everything seemed to be creaking lately, he was certain it never did that when he was out running missions and dodging bullets, or maybe this was the after effect of all those times, putting himself in danger and running for his life. It really was hazardous to one's health.

"I just have to check something with Nick before we go." Moving toward the door, the agent shot Clint an informed look, silently telling him not to snoop. He'd already caught the teen red handed a few weeks ago, flicking through some of the files Phil had left on his desk. The young archer had argued after Phil scolded him for the breach of privacy that he would know soon enough anyway and wanted to know what it was Phil had to do to organise a team to track down these individuals. The agent had tried not to let his varying emotions about the teen's future show on his features. He loved his boy more than anything, wanted him to be safe and happy, but at the same time, he knew when Clint joined SHIELD and became an agent, because that was a certainty, his responsibility as a father and of keeping the boy safe would become that much harder. The more the teen prodded the agent about his future within the agency, the clearer it became that Phil would have to resign himself to the fact that his son would become an agent of SHIELD. God help anyone that caused his son, harm because there would be nothing on this earth that would stop Coulson from unleashing his wrath on those responsible. It could be considered quite funny that someone usually so calm and collected could also have one of the worst tempers when provoked. You just had to know what buttons to push.

"Yeah, Yeah." Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Clint pretended to play around with it. Once Phil left the office, the door clicking shut in his wake, Barton slid his cell back into his pocket and wandered towards his dad's desk. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, he'd already gotten into trouble for snooping around some of the classified files, yet the way he saw it, he was going to find out about all of SHIELD's dirty little secrets eventually. He dropped on to the leather chair and started flicking through the files nearest the top. He counted ten files, all different thickness's, obviously some had more information than others, and each of them had a small profile picture clipped to the front. When Clint reached the forth file his eyes widened in surprise at the slightly blurred picture of what he thought looked like a teenage girl with bright red hair disappearing inside a large building. It seemed obvious that whoever had taken the picture hadn't much time before the girl had vanished from sight. The blond's eyes narrowed as he continued reading what SHIELD had on the girl. She was Russian, known as the Black Widow and had, according to their sources, almost twenty kills to her name already and hadn't reached fifteen yet. Swallowing down the sudden rise of nausea, the teen chewed anxiously on his lower lip as he continued reading. He was so engrossed in the file that he hadn't heard the door open or notice that his dad was right next to him until the file was pulled from his hands and slammed shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Authors Note: A huge thanks to all those who reviewed - Sandy-wmd, Lollypops101, Qweb, kimbee, DucksFan1510, 101JRae, xxnuttynicxx, you all make my day!

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Phil forced himself to calm down, not wanting to lose his temper with the youngster, even though his gut was screaming at him to punish the boy for once again ignoring the rules the agent had set in place. It wasn't just that the files were considered classified, although it was one of the main reasons. The other, was Coulson trying to get the kid into the habit of following commands, the boy had a habit of wanting to do things his own way and out in the field that wasn't an option. Disregarding orders is what could get your team killed. Pushing down the torrent of emotions bubbling to the surface, Phil took a deep breath and counted to ten. When he felt more in control his gaze locked on to the wide eyes of his son who looked embarrassed at being caught, although instead of apologising as the agent thought he would, Clint sprung from the chair so fast that it bounced backwards into the wall with a resounding bang. A fire blazed in the blond's eyes that Phil couldn't remember ever seeing before.

"What the hell is that!?" the teen demanded, hand gesturing toward the file, his chest heaving as though he'd just run a marathon. Clint's face contorted in an all-consuming anger, his nostrils flaring, eyes flashing and his hands closed into fists at his sides. He struggled to get control of his raging emotions but found himself failing miserably

Coulson raised an eyebrow in response, this wasn't exactly the reaction he'd been expecting. He thought the teen would be apologising and repeating more or less what they'd spoke about last time. Instead he found himself facing someone he didn't think he'd ever encountered before; not even when they first met and Clint hadn't trusted him. The boy in front of him was furious and Phil wasn't sure he knew what to say in that moment, nothing that would calm the rising tension in the room at any rate.

"You shouldn't have been reading that Clint." The agent tried for a calm, collected approach instead of fighting fire with fire. "What did we talk about last time?"

Barton huffed, folding his arms across his chest defensively. "That is so not the point dad. Why is SHIELD watching a young girl? Is the agency going to take her out?" The more he thought about it, the angrier he became and the louder his voice rose with each question.

Coulson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he decided the best way of approaching this. The agent had been around the kid long enough to know how Clint's mind worked. The teen wouldn't be thinking about the fact this girl was responsible for numerous deaths; one of the reasons she'd been labelled the Black Widow so young. She was good at what she did, and extremely deadly, because who in their right mind would suspect this pretty little girl of being a ruthless, cold blooded assassin who only lived to please her superiors. Clint would only see a young girl who was in desperate need of saving. Phil found it unsettling that he hadn't argued a case for the girl, someone who was only a couple of years younger than Clint. It made him feel sick that the Council were willing to murder a teenager, even one with so many kills to her name. The agent hadn't considered another option, yet it looked like he'd have to re-evaluate his decision now with the pleading blue eyes that he couldn't say no to, directed at him.

"Clint you have to understand that no matter what you think you see when you look at that picture, this girl isn't just any ordinary girl. She's been brainwashed to be a cold, heartless assassin with no regard for anyone's life. She would die for their cause, and kill anyone who gets in the way of her mission." Phil watched the teen as he spoke, thankful that Clint seemed to be absorbing the information he was given. "The only reason we have been able to get the slightest bit of background on her is because one of our agents was undercover for almost a year and managed to piece together scraps of intel before he was killed." He paused, waiting until he saw those impossibly blue eyes. "She killed him."

Barton paled. Pushing down the feeling of dread that was slowly building, he stared at his dad with an anguished expression, one he knew the older man hated to see as Phil made it his life's mission to keep his boy from further heartache. "Who?" he asked hoarsely. Dreading that the older man would say a name he recognised.

"Agent Markson." Phil wasn't sure if Clint would have known him, Markson didn't come through to their base very often. The agent released a breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding when there seemed to be no recognition of the name on Clint's blank features. Not that it made a difference, there was still a lingering sadness in the teen's eyes that made Phil want to wrap him in a comforting embrace and never let him go.

Barton chewed absently on the side of his thumb, a habit he'd picked up when he was thinking really hard about something. It wasn't hard to see where SHIELD was coming from in regards to the girl though he still couldn't get over the fact that the agency was considering ending this young girl's life, someone who probably didn't have much of a childhood to begin with. Clint could empathise. If what Phil said about her being brainwashed and the snippets of details the undercover agent had managed to find out were true, then this girl had been taken from her home at a very young age. All Clint could think, was perhaps if she was given the chance to choose her own path, to be someone better, she could be saved. Maybe she didn't want any of this and only did it to stay alive. He couldn't imagine what she'd been through. After a few years living on the streets Clint had witnessed people doing horrific things, things that went against their nature just to survive, yet other people would consider the actions cold and heartless. "What if instead of killing her, you gave her a choice?"

Phil stared at the blond boy before him, so full of compassion and hope. He was so different to the young boy he'd first encountered. That boy had been beaten and broken down into a fragile shell, unwilling to accept help or truly trust anyone, always thinking there was some unspeakable ulterior motive. Back then Clint thought no one did anything out of the goodness of their heart; they always wanted something in return. Phil had turned everything around, granted it had taken time, a lot of time and patience, but that was what the agent was known for and in the process of helping, he'd finally found something he'd never believed he would ever have; a son. It was no wonder that same boy who'd managed to open up the stoic agent's heart, filling it with love and pride and a never ending happiness was now asking Phil to open his heart again, helping someone else who was broken, perhaps beyond repair.

"You mean ask her to join us or be kept locked up for the rest of her life?" The agent watched as his son's brow furrowed in consideration, before giving him a small hesitant nod.

"Yeah, something like that. It would be better than killing her. Right?"

"Yeah I guess it would." Phil agreed, he didn't want it to get that far anyway. It was the council issuing the order and Nick left stuck between a rock and a hard place. "I'll speak with Nick about it, okay?"

Clint nodded, his head bowed so that Phil couldn't see his face. The agent stepped closer and used his finger to gently tilt the teen's head up to meet his own. When he saw the glistening tears in Clint's eyes he didn't need to think, just pulled his boy into his arms and held him tightly. "It's okay, son."

"I'm…sorry." Clint sniffed, pulling back slightly to wipe the annoying tears away. When he finally met Phil's worried face, he gave him a small, sad smile. "I know I shouldn't have snooped, and then arguing with you about case files I shouldn't even be looking at. I didn't mean to disappoint you dad."

The older man couldn't stop the soft chuckle that escaped his lips as he pulled Clint closer, the teen's head resting against his shoulder while he rubbed his hand up and down his back soothingly. It was an action he'd found out years ago that helped calm the teen. When he felt the tension leave Clint's body he guided him toward the sofa and sat him down. Crouching in front of his boy, he rested one hand on the teen's knee. "You've never disappointed me Clint, not even now. Yes I'll admit I was angry when I first walked in and saw you doing what you promised you wouldn't. Although, once again you quite literally blew me away with your argument for this young assassin who no one, not even me has taken the time to consider the fact that she is just a girl, one who probably hasn't had anyone look out for her in a long time. Here you are, within minutes of learning that she is a killer, cold blooded and ruthless and you want to give her a second chance. The compassion you possess is a gift Clint, and I'm awed by it."

Barton stared wide eyed at his dad, feeling fresh tears threaten to spill forward once again. He couldn't speak, his throat constricting painfully and he had to look away from the older man or he would be bowled over by the sheer tidal wave of emotions being directed at him.

Phil moved to sit next to the teen, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with the material of the sofa as he waited for Clint to say something. He wanted to know what the kid was thinking. With a side glance he saw the tears glistening in those impossibly blue eyes and felt his heart clench painfully within his chest. It was only the knowledge that they weren't tears of sadness but of joy that stopped Phil from reaching over and pulling Clint into his waiting arms. He would give the teenager the space he needed to get his erratic emotions under control. After a moment of companionable silence the agent stood and headed towards his desk. Collecting various files he turned back to the teen. "Do you want to head down to the car and I'll hand these in to Nick before we go?"

Giving a half shrug, Clint stood effortlessly catching the keys tossed at him. "Okay."

He waited until the older man walked out before turning and grabbing his bag and jacket. Clint let out a frustrated sigh, running his fingers through his hair making the short strands stick up, he wasn't sure what had just happened, he'd never spoke to Phil like that before and he could still feel the fire that had sparked within him simmering under the surface. It scared him because the last time he'd experienced something similar was almost four years ago when Nick told him that Phil had gone missing and so had Karl. Clint remembered it like it was only yesterday, the feeling of anger, fear and helplessness that consumed him, making him think that he wouldn't get to the older man in time. It was in that moment of blinding rage and terror, that the teen had launched a chair across the briefing room. He didn't want to think about what he was capable of now.

Pulling his bag over his shoulder he walked out of the room, needing to escape the confines of the base and get some air. He just hoped that would help calm his racing heart. Digging his hand into his pocket he grasped the small solid hawk that he never went without, needing its reassuring properties that everything was going to be okay.

Clint kept a firm grip on the silver hawk as he made his way down to the garage, focusing on taking deep, even breaths. He'd have to make sure his emotions were in check by the time Phil arrived, not wanting the older man to worry. He continued walking down the seemingly endless dull grey corridor, not needing to lift his head to know where he was going; his ability to recall directions had been ingrained from his time on the street. He reached the end of the corridor where it divided into two separate paths; the one on the left, which would take him to the elevator, and the other toward the hangar. As much as he longed to veer right, to fulfil his fantasy of flying one of the Quinjets, he knew that dream would have to wait until he completed his training. Unfortunately for the teen, who only wanted to go home, some unforeseeable force intervened and as he rounded the corner he collided with something solid. Clint almost tripped over his own feet, but managed to catch himself by throwing his hand out to the wall to steady himself. The person he'd bumped into wasn't so lucky and fell to the floor in a heap.

Barton opened his mouth to apologise, but was cut off with a deep booming voice sounding from behind him. "Why don't you watch where you're going kid?" snapped the dark haired man. Clint turned, his eyebrow arched in surprise at the hostility being directed at him.

The guy stalked forward, his cold eyes narrowing as he stared at Clint.

Another agent stepped forward to help his friend off the floor. Once on his feet both men shot the teen scathing glares. "What the hell, I didn't know SHIELD ran a day care?" the man who'd fallen sneered, dusting himself off.

His blond haired friend chuckled, attempting to intimidate the kid by cracking his knuckles.

Clint glared right back, struggling not to laugh in their faces at their awful attempts at intimidation. He'd seen these three guys on a few occasions, usually in the cafeteria. As far as he was aware they were still in training, he'd seen them with Agent Daniel Simmons, and over heard them being loud and pretty obnoxious when talking with anyone they considered beneath them. The teen wasn't sure how they ever got picked to become agents in the first place, surely they must have some defining qualities, after all SHIELD only hired the best. So far he hadn't seen anything to indicate their talent. The desire to knock these guys on their asses was overwhelming, but the teen managed to squash the urge, not wanting to be the cause of any more trouble today, especially not so close to his birthday. Instead he squared his shoulders, looked the man he'd knocked over straight in the eye and apologised. "I'm sorry."

Not taking any notice of their incredulous stares, Clint started toward the elevator desperately hoping they wouldn't start anything because he so wasn't in the mood. Once again the wicked mistress that was fate decided to take matters into her own hands and as Clint hurried past the dark haired agent, the taller man grabbed the teen's upper arm in a bruising grip.

"Is that it? I don't think you sounded very sincere." The other two agents laughed, although once they noticed the stiff posture and aggressiveness emanating from the third agent with the tight grip on the kid's arm, they attempted to step in before things got out of control.

"It's fine Jones. He's just a stupid kid." The man who'd fallen placed his hand on the other agent's arm, hoping the brief contact would be enough to make his friend release the white knuckled grip he had on the boy.

Jones on the other hand was having none of it. He swiped the younger man's hand from his arm, like it was nothing more than a nuisance and turned to Clint with a growl of annoyance. How dare this kid look at him like he was beneath him? He was a SHIELD agent for crying out loud. Determination settled in, he was going to give this kid a lesson in manners.

Barton, who was still trying to figure out what he'd done to have such hostility directed toward him, tried to hide the wince as the man's fingers dug painfully into his flesh. He wouldn't be surprised if there were bruises left behind. Still, he tried to walk away. He really did. That was the plan until he found himself slammed forcefully into the wall, his arm twisted painfully behind his back. The man holding him leaned forward, his warm breath ghosting across the back of Clint's neck, making the short hairs stand on end and the teen felt the sudden urge to vomit. He hated people invading his personal space, only a selected few who'd wormed their way into his heart were allowed to do that.

"Why don't I teach you some manners, kid?" Jones hissed in the boy's ear.

Agents Byres and Young glanced at one another nervously, they'd heard the rumours of a kid who was granted access to the base; a teenager who was apparently Agent Coulson's son, not a man they wanted to mess with. There were also whispers of the director being the kid's god father. If they didn't stop this now, it wasn't going to end well, for any of them.

With a nod of silent agreement, they rushed forward grabbing Jones' arms and yanking him backwards. It didn't have the effect they thought it would. Jones still had Clint's arm in a death grip and as he was yanked backwards, a pained cry was torn from the teen's lips at the rough treatment, his struggles to get himself free, renewed. Using his free arm, the bigger agent lashed out with his elbow, catching the blond agent's nose.

"Byres!" Agent Young shouted, watching as his friend staggered back a step, both hands clutching his quite possibly broken nose. Turning back to the out of control agent he snapped, "What the hell, Jones?"

"Unless you want the same, I suggest you take a step back," threatened the taller man, his dark eyes filled with promise.

The younger agent didn't know what to do, he glanced at the boy who was staring darkly at Jones and still struggling to pull his arm from the vice like grip. Young then turned to his friend Byres whose hands were now covered in the blood that was running freely from his nose

"I th-nk it's br-ken," Byres mumbled, attempting to stay upright.

Needing to do something now, the young agent decided the best course of action would be for him to get his injured friend to medical and hope that he might bump into someone that could help along the way. He didn't like the thought of leaving the kid with Jones, but at the same time he wouldn't be of much use to the teen as he was sadly lacking in his fighting skills and would more than likely become another of Jones' victims.

Clint tore his gaze from the man still gripping his arm to the other agent who seemed to be having some trouble deciding what to do. When the agent's eyes finally settled on his injured friend, Barton knew who he was going to help. For some reason it didn't make him feel angry, only more determined. Turning his attention back to the hulking man in front of him, the teen couldn't contain the devilish smirk from spreading across his features. That dangerous feeling that had been simmering under the surface had finally begun to boil over, his skin felt like it was on fire. Embracing the smouldering fire from within, Clint felt an unusual sense of detachment spread through him. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced and it felt good. It didn't register with the teen until later that it probably wasn't a good thing. Jones finally took notice of the cocky smirk, his eyes widening in surprise at the kid's continuing defiance. Barton took advantage of the agent's distraction, stomping down on his foot, then using his free hand, he sent a solid chop at the man's throat. The taller man clutched at his throat, a garbled grunt escaping his lips. The sound doing very little to intimidate the boy before him. Jones finally released the kid's arm and threw a solid punch at Clint's head in retaliation.

Ducking under the fist, Clint spun down and away, giving himself time to manoeuvre. The bigger man came at him, fists swinging wildly and all Clint could do was focus on ducking and dodging, showing off his skills and speed. Jones was beginning to lose patience, if he had any to begin with, his hits becoming uncoordinated and ended up hitting the wall once or twice. When he'd finally decided he'd had enough of these games, he charged at the teen, bringing both of them roughly to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

The sudden impact made Barton's teeth rattle from the force his head hit the floor, and for a second everything flashed blindingly white and he squeezed his eyes shut. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do with a raging psychopath on top of him. When the pain lessened and his vision cleared, he opened his eyes in time to see a fist coming at his face. He raised his hands defensively, expecting to feel the pain of the hit though it never came. The weight on his chest lifted, and gentle hands were unexpectedly framing his head. A familiar voice was speaking above him. Clint blinked dazedly into the face of a very worried looking Sam, before turning his head to watch as his dad manhandled the agent away from him, throwing Jones against the wall and promptly decking the taller man with a solid right hook.

Holy crap, his dad looked pissed.

Letting his head fall back against the solid floor with a thunk, the teen let out a groan. It wasn't an acknowledgement of pain but of self-deprecation, he was almost certain that if he hadn't disappointed his dad before, he'd certainly achieved that status now.


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: So sorry I didn't update last night, but thanks to everyone who reviewed! DragonFan47, xxnuttynicxx, Qweb, Lollypops101, Sandy-wmd, Linoria, DucksFan1510, kimbee, sammygirl1963 and guest. You guys are all awesome!

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The ride home was made in silence. Phil barely said two words to the teenager since Sam announced that Clint was fine, just a couple of bumps and a bruise on his upper arm. The agent had never felt so angry. The pure, unadulterated rage that overtook the normally collected agent when he'd saw his son lying on the floor, pinned under one of the trainee agents, was enough to make him ignore his better judgement and beat the agent senseless. Part of him was still fighting that temptation. He didn't regret knocking Jones out, although he was certain he was in for a lengthy discussion with his boss when he returned in the morning for a debriefing. Phil rarely ever gave Nick cause to be concerned by his conduct, though in this instance his explosive actions may have been a little over the top for the normally composed man. He was certain that it was his protective instincts for his teenage son which had exacerbated his mounting anger and made him fly off the handle. Phil had witnessed the flash of hurt and uncertainty in the teen's eyes when he told him they'd have to return to SHIELD the next morning. It wasn't his intention to make Clint believe that he was being punished for something that wasn't his fault. The whole incident was going to be a sour note going into his birthday but still the meeting had to happen. Coulson was feeling troubled by the recent events and knew that he and the teen were going to have to sit down and have a heart to heart and even though the trip back to SHIELD hadn't been planned, it made for a great extra surprise for his boy. Phil was going to let him show off his skills on the new parkour course which had only just been completed. The agent had noticed the awestruck expression that flittered across the kid's face when he tried to peek inside the range which housed the newest addition to the agency's training regime.

After everything Clint had been through over the past year, from the moment he'd been struck by that drunk driver, to the exhausting and frustrating physiotherapy, the kid had fought relentlessly to get himself back to his previous fitness. It had taken almost two months for Barton to be able to walk without a limp and nearly three before he could even attempt to try running. It was a difficult time for both of them. Emotions running high in those first few months, the teen getting agitated and annoyed when it became obvious that his recovery wasn't going to be easy as he'd hoped and that it was his own body that was betraying him. Phil endeavoured to keep a level head, knowing the injured teen was just upset with the situation and didn't mean to take it out on the older man. Barton had said as much when he'd finally been cleared by Sam, apologising for his bad temper and giving the agent a warm hug. The worried father had never taken the words spoken in anger to heart, and accepted the teen's apology without any fuss.

Pulling on in to the driveway of their home, Phil turned to Clint to ask how he was doing but the words caught in his throat. The teen's head was resting against the window, his head turned away from his dad, though Phil could see the evidence of the hurt Clint was feeling by the tears that stained his son's cheeks by his reflection on the glass.

The agent silently berated himself for not saying anything during their journey home; the kid probably thought he was mad at him when in fact Phil spent most of the car ride torturing himself. He was supposed to keep Clint safe, he was meant to be in control and not act like an idiot. He hadn't meant to make his boy feel abandoned.

"C'mere kid." He unhooked his seat belt and pulled the unresisting teen toward him, embracing him tightly. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you, Clint."

Barton used the back of his sleeve to wipe away the traitorous tears and sat back, putting some distance between them. "Really?" he asked, his blue gaze searching Phil's for any sign of deception.

"Yeah, really." Using his right hand, he squeezed the back of Clint's neck affectionately, still loving how the boy's entire posture seemed to relax at the simple but effective touch. "Come on then," Phil said tiredly, exhaustion creeping up on the agent. It had been a very long day.

As soon as they stepped inside the house, both father and son separated to opposite corners; Phil heading to the kitchen to start cooking dinner and Clint disappeared up to his room. He appeared only minutes later carrying a familiar looking long black case and setting it carefully down on the coffee table. The teenager flipped open the latches and lifted the item out with a gentleness that was reminiscent of handling delicate china.

Coulson kept flicking his gaze over to his son while he pulled out various pots and ingredients for their dinner. He watched as Clint cleaned and polished the sleek black bow; his boy was meticulous in his desire to keep the weapon in pristine condition and Phil had to admit that it was spotless. The recurve bow he'd given to Clint for his thirteenth birthday looked as new as it did the day it was given to the boy. It filled the agent with pride that the young archer still showed his love for the gift so openly.

"I'm making curry, Clint." Phil waited until Barton lifted his head to look in his direction before adding, "Do you want naan bread or French fries?"

The teen continued wiping down the smooth surface of the bow with a soft cloth using the special wax he'd been given by the techs at SHIELD. They'd told him that this stuff would keep the glossy finish and help prevent scratches. It really was a work of art. He held the weapon at arm's length, admiring the beauty of the sleek device and pondered his choices for food. He finally gave into his rumbling stomach and replied, "Both, please."

Phil gave a short nod, the corners of his lips quirking upward, somehow knowing that was exactly what his boy was going to say. Clint continued to eat and insurmountable amount of food on a daily basis and never seemed to put on any weight. It probably had something to do with the kid's daily exercise routine of free running that he'd taken up once his leg had healed. The agent watched the teen who was completely focussed on his task once again, chewing his bottom lip in concentration. At that precise moment, gazing upon the teenager sitting crossed legged on the sofa with his bow cradled in his lap, his posture so relaxed, the agent was transported back to a time when the teen had been sat in that exact same position, polishing his bow for the first time after receiving it. He looked so young back then, his blond hair slightly longer and occasionally falling in front of his eyes. Back then the scrawny boy had still been learning to trust the older man. Phil couldn't begin to imagine what his life would have been like had he not found Clint all those years ago. He could honestly say his life would have been incomplete, although it wasn't until Clint had been thrust into his life that Phil even realised that something had been missing. The love and affection he felt for the kid had broken down the barriers he'd kept fortified around his heart, yet instead of making him feel vulnerable; that by opening his heart he'd be at risk of getting hurt, it made him feel whole for the first time in a very long time.

Clint listened as the older man bustled around in the kitchen, chopping onion and humming to himself while occasionally stirring the large pot filled with curry. The smell of the delicious food assaulted his senses and made his mouth water. He finished wiping the last of the wax from his bow, admiring the slick black finish and set the weapon back into its case. He'd take her out for practise after dinner, needing the feeling of tranquillity that came with firing at his targets. It had been a long, eventful day that Clint would be glad to see the end of.

"Do you want a hand, dad?" he asked, stretching the kinks out of his back and shoulders and walked into the kitchen.

"Sure, kid."

Phil placed the handle of the knife into the teen's waiting hand, unable to keep the smirk from adorning his features as Clint proceeded to chop the rest of the onion, then a green pepper in his usual captivating fashion. The agent didn't think it was necessary to throw a knife up in the air so many times while chopping but he found he couldn't take his eyes off of his boy when he was in his element and showing off. It was very entertaining to watch and even though he still felt his heart jump into his throat on occasion when his boy did stuff like this, he knew deep down the kid was in no danger of hurting himself. Clint had shown him how good he was, and explained that from his time in the circus he'd become very skilled with knives as well as his bow and had never injured himself with either. It was enough for the agent, although the father in him still worried about injuries.

"I'm sorry dad."

Phil paused while stirring the curry and turned to face the teen. "For what?"

"For not listening to you and reading those files, for arguing with you and for getting into a fight." Clint placed the knife on the chopping board, folded his arms over his chest and raised his eyes to meet the older man's. "I did try to walk away, I really did, but that guy was being a total jack ass."

Coulson managed to school his features into his normally blank mask. This wasn't a laughing matter and he didn't want the kid to think he was laughing at him when he felt his lips quirk at the whiny tone in which the teen had just used to call Jones a jack ass.

"I know you are Clint and we will talk punishment after tomorrow. I'm not going to ground you on your birthday but you do need to take responsibility for ignoring my rules about you snooping through important, classified files." He watched as Barton hung his head in shame, a short nod his only sign that the kid had been listening. "I'm not going to punish you for the fight though. I've heard a few things about Jones and honestly, I've no idea how he made it through our thorough back ground checks. The man obviously has serious anger management issues."

"You don't say," Clint muttered under his breath, eyes widening when he realised he'd said that loud enough for Phil to hear and mumbled another apology. The teen was aware that not everybody at the base was happy about having a kid running about; they didn't think it was the best place for a boy to spend his time, although none of them knew about his past. Phil, Nick, Molly and Sam were really the only ones that knew most of his secrets, what he'd lived through and they had all decided it was best for him to remain at the base. It wasn't like many agents were going to argue with the Director or his right hand about it anyway. They valued their jobs and their lives.

"Come on. Dinner is ready." Phil motioned toward the dinner table with a tilt of his head. "Why don't you set the table, kid?"

"Okay," Clint replied, opening the cupboards and pulling out two plates. The table was set by the time Phil brought over the large dish filled with curry, quickly followed by the bowl of basmati rice, a separate bowl filled with homemade fries and a plate with two large naan breads folded over.

Father and son settled into their seats and inhaled the heavenly aroma that only came with a home cooked meal. The blond turned to the older man with a grateful smile forming on his lips.

"Thanks dad."

"You're welcome kid."

With what Phil had planned for the teen the next morning at the base, Clint was going to need to be prepared for a strenuous workout, which meant making sure the teen had a good meal, plenty of rest and hopefully getting him into a better frame of mind to take on the newest recruits on the parkour course. That meant only one thing.

"You want to practice with your bow after dinner?" Phil asked.

Clint's eyes lit up and the corners of his lips rose, showing Phil exactly what the teen thought of his suggestion. Taking the serving spoon from the older man, Clint began ladling the food on to his plate in large heaping piles. If Phil hadn't known better he would've thought the kid had never eaten before, sadly he'd bore witness to the kid's eating habits and this was considered normal. _More like barbarism_, he thought as Barton begun shovelling spoonful's into his mouth, barely finishing one mouthful before shovelling in another. For some reason though, one that he couldn't begin to fathom, the sight made Phil's heart swell with pride.

Once they'd finished eating, cleaned and put their dishes away, Phil grabbed his grey hoodie that he'd left on the back of the sofa and made his way out to the back garden. Clint joined him a few minutes later with his bow in hand.

Coulson stood to the side, watching as the teen knocked an arrow, aimed toward the target at the far end of the garden and saw the evidence of his exhale in the cool night air. It didn't matter that the darkness had descended, that Phil could barely see where Clint was aiming because for some reason the kid never missed. He believed that failure just wasn't in the kid's DNA. The familiar sound of the arrow being released and the almost instant resounding thwack to his left had Phil squinting to see where the arrow hit. He should've known better to think it hit anywhere other than the bulls eye. Even with the limited light from the street, the older man caught a flash of teeth which told him Clint was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"I still don't know how you manage to do that." Phil shook his head in wonderment as he walked toward the target and pulled the arrow from the board.

"Just awesome, I guess."

Phil chuckled lightly, holding the arrow out to the teen who took it with a nod of thanks. "Why don't we try something?"

Clint's eyebrow arched in interest. "What did you have in mind?"

The agent disappeared into the house leaving the teen wondering what he was up to, when Phil returned carrying one of his ties. He held the black silk material out toward the blond and waited for him to take it.

"What do you want me to do with this?" asked the young archer as he took the tie, confusion marring his young features.

Coulson moved to stand behind the teen, taking the black material from Clint's grasp and covering his eyes. He tied it tightly enough so that it wouldn't slip off and stepped back.

"Let's see how good you are kid?"

The tightness of the teen's jaw and the straight set of his shoulders was a dead giveaway that Clint accepted his challenge.

"Let's do this then."

Phil stared dumbfounded as over the next hour his boy continued to hit the bull's-eye time and time again. It had only taken four tries before Clint had managed to hit the target and once he did there was no deviation from his ingrained sense of accuracy.

"Are we okay, dad?" Clint pulled the tie over his head but wouldn't meet the older man's gaze, unsure of what he'd see behind those warm brown eyes, usually filled with love and pride. He didn't think he could handle seeing any evidence that Phil was disappointed in him after what happened earlier.

"Yeah kid. We're good." Phil swore he witnessed the weight that lifted from the teen's shoulders, saw the gratitude that sparked in those pale blue eyes, as he lifted his head. Phil felt a rush of happiness flow through him and it warmed his heart in a way that he was certain would never get old. Throwing his arm around the young archer, he pulled him close and kissed the top of the blond boy's head. He was shocked that Clint didn't attempt to pull away as he usually would if Phil showed that kind of affection. Barton's normal response of late was usually saying something along the lines of 'being too old for that kind of stuff now.'

"You want a hot chocolate?"

Clint scoffed lightly. "I'm not a little kid anymore dad."

"Sorry." Phil amended, then added. "Not even if I add little marshmallows and whipped cream?"

Barton stopped dead in his tracks, a look of deliberation displayed openly on his face. "Well that's an entirely different story."

Phil chuckled. "Come on then trouble, let's get inside. It's getting cold."


	4. Chapter 4

Authors Note: Seriously all you readers are amazing and reading what you have to say about each chapter makes me smile. Thanks to readermind, xxnuttynicxx, Sandy-wmd, Lollypops101, Qweb, sammygirl1963, 101JRae, queenlmno, DBhawkguy30 and DucksFan1510 for reviewing the last chapter.

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Phil didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that Clint was dragging his feet, he could hear the tell-tale scuffs trailing behind him. The teen was usually excited to come back to the base for whatever reason the agent gave him, but today wasn't just any day, it was the kid's seventeenth birthday and they were supposed to be spending the day together looking at new cars and eating lots of junk food. Instead Phil had been summoned by the director about the incident from the day before. The uncertainty of what Fury would do to the agent, what could be deemed an acceptable punishment would be laying heavily on Clint's mind, feeding his growing apprehension. Coulson wasn't nervous, he'd done what any father would have done, in fact he'd probably showed remarkable restraint. He was sure that while Nick wouldn't be pleased that he'd let his emotions get the best of him, he'd understand that the younger man had done what was necessary.

When he'd almost reached his destination, Phil spun around to face the young archer. Clint who wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, his mind wandering as they made their way along the long, monotone corridors, almost walked straight into the older man.

Coulson steadied the teen with his hands on the boy's shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. "Why don't you go wait for me in the training gym? I shouldn't be too long."

The teen cocked his head to the side, biting his lower lip as he pondered whether or not to argue and follow his dad to Nick's office and take the blame for what happened with Jones.

As always the older man seemed to know what he was thinking and gave him a knowing look. "Don't worry about it Clint. Now go, work out some of that tension building inside you and I will be a long before you know it. Then we can go look at cars and spend the day eating unhealthy amounts of food."

Clint felt some of the tension ease with his dads comforting words, his lips turning upward in a slight smile. "Okay, dad."

"Good. Now behave until I get there, got it?"

Clint nodded and watched as Phil stopped outside Nick's office, the older man's shoulders were straight, his head held high; a sure sign that he was ready for whatever awaited him on the other side of the door. The teen waited until Phil disappeared inside before he turned, heading back towards the training gym. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and casually sauntered through the corridors, his sharp gaze focusing on the ventilation shaft above him. Clint had memorised the intricate maze which ran through the entire base, knew it better than the back of his hand. Before he had the chance to think about what he was doing, his feet were carrying him forward. With a quick glance to make sure no one would see him, he ran toward the wall and with two quick steps he was half way up the wall, his hands reaching out to grab hold of the vent's edge. He dangled precariously with one hand holding his weight and the other pulling back the metal grate wide enough and then with a little manoeuvring he was lifting himself inside.

Releasing a puff of air, the teen made a mental calculation of where he was within the vast array of tunnels and started crawling through the metal maze toward his destination; the training gym. Clint was known for his disappearing acts into the vents, loving the freedom he got navigating around the large structure, occasionally finding new nooks and crannies to explore. It annoyed security to no end, never knowing where the teen was until he decided to show himself, and although the young archer might be on the receiving end of one of Phil Coulson's legendary exasperated glares, the older man would never tell him off for it. Phil was aware of the youngster's obsession with the vents, his need for seclusion in a base filled with people.

It took almost twenty minutes to reach the training room and he found himself pausing at the grate which would drop him into the centre of the room upon hearing raised voices from down below.

He recognised Jones' gruff tone immediately. It sounded like he was arguing with another man, their raised voices echoing around the large room. Clint's hands clenched into fists of their own violation, his teeth gritting together in anger thinking about their confrontation the other day. Barton still had no idea what he'd done to deserve the aggressive attitude aimed at him. When he heard 'that stupid kid' growled from down below, Clint tuned back into the conversation. After a glance through the metal mesh that he saw it was Daniel, the trainer who was getting into Jones' face, not at all intimidated by the fact the trainee agent was almost twice his size. Daniel Simmons could put the obnoxious man on the mat in the blink of an eye. Barton had seen him do it on many occasions.

"You want to know why that kid gets free rein of this base?" Daniel snapped, stepping toe to toe with the taller man. "Honestly, there aren't enough words for me to describe how gifted that kid is. He deserves to be here. Which is more than I can say for you, Jones."

"If that's what you think then you're a fool, Simmons. I would wipe the floor with that kid if given the chance, show him what it means to be a real agent."

Daniel stared at Jones in amusement, his lips curling upward. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." The taller man puffed out his chest in defiance, his eye flicking over to the other recruits standing quietly to the side, their expressions ranging from awe to annoyance.

"Well I'm pleased to tell you that Agent Coulson has authorised your challenge." The trainer wanted to laugh at the wide eyed stare he received. Phil had already informed Daniel about Clint's appreciation for the new training course, he'd also been witness to some of the teen's work outs over the past few months and was more than certain Barton could compete against Jones and win. The kid was a sight to behold once in his element. "Come on down, Barton." Daniel tilted his head up to see the vent cover being moved aside and the blond boy's athletic body slipping out effortlessly.

Clint dropped to the ground in a light crouch, catching Jones' eye and smirking. With his head held high and his shoulders straight, the teen's confidence was clearly visible as he walked towards the trainer. "Hey Daniel," he greeted.

"Hey kid." The dark haired man nodded toward the course. "You ready for this?"

Barton cocked his head to the side, gazing past Daniel's shoulder. His keen blue eyes filled with glee at the sight of the new parkour training course down below them. The lay out reminded him of a video game he'd played recently called '_Assassin's Creed_', where the main character was standing at the highest point and looking down upon the vast array of rooftops. Clint was already mapping out his best strategy for moving across the large open space, his excitement building when he noticed the fire escapes and tried to decide how best to use those too.

_This was going to be so much fun_, thought the young archer.

Daniel stayed close to the teen's side as they made their way towards the stairs. He still didn't trust the other man not to try anything if the constant glares Jones sent the boy were any indication. Once they got to ground level, Barton and Jones would have to climb up the side of the fake building using window ledges and pipes to get back on to the roof and from there make their way across to the finish line which was a white flag at the opposite end of the large structure. With a quick motion of his hand, the trainer ordered the other trainees to stay up top. They'd get a better view of the race from that position anyway.

As they stood in front of the large building Daniel turned to Clint who looked like he was about to explode with excitement. The teen was bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands clenching and unclenching. It seemed his patience to get this started already was starting to wear thin.

"All right you two." Daniel started. "Once you get up there, you have an unlimited source of options to get to the white flag at the opposite end, that's your destination. You can only go over or through the structures, no touching the ground. If you do, you're out." He glanced at Jones then at Clint. "Got it?"

Both nodded and turned to face the building.

"You'll be running crying back to your daddy by the end of this Barton," Jones snarled at the teen.

Clint stared calmly at the older man. "Whatever you say Jones."

Daniel moved to stand between them, pulling his black whistle from his pocket.

"Ready?"

Two quick nods answered him.

"Then go."

In that moment Clint felt nothing but clarity, his mind clearing of everything except his task at hand: to get to the roof. He exploded forward, his eyes already mapping out the best route to take. The young archer rushed toward the wall and with his right foot digging into the brick work, he pushed himself upward to grip the window ledge above. From there he eyed the distance to the pipe on his right and without a second thought pushed off the wall. It was all second nature to Clint, a calm feeling settling over his mind like a comforting blanket, even when he made some leaps that could quite possibly be considered death defying. The teen had been practising long enough now to know what jumps he could make with ease. With his hands gripping the pipe, his feet digging into the wall, Clint made quick work of the last few meters until he was able to pull himself on to the roof. A quick look over to his left and he saw his opponent doing the same.

Without another moment's pause, Barton took off over the roof top. He couldn't begin to describe the feeling that engulfed his entire being as he raced over the flat surface, launching himself over the huge gap between the buildings without so much as a misstep. Clint had always thought that firing his bow and practising his acrobatics were the only ways he could truly unwind, but free running was quickly becoming more desirable. It could be because he'd been laid up for so long, being unable to move around much that made the parkour so freeing. Every jump he made, every breath he took made him feel more alive and free than he could ever remember being. It was exhilarating.

The course divided in to two obvious paths. Jones had decided to take the easier option with most of the surfaces being flat and smaller gaps between the make shift buildings, though Clint's searching gaze noticed that the closer to the flag the bigger the gaps became. The path Barton chose was a mixture of flat roof tops and slanted ones making the jumps that much more dangerous, more so for someone not used to the awkward landing. Clint thrived on the challenges it brought, feeling the corners of his lips curl upward as he soared like a hawk through the air, the weightlessness causing his heart to beat wildly in his chest. He was an adrenaline junkie that was for sure.

The young archer continued sprinting across the roof tops, vaulting easily over the spaces between the buildings like there were springs on the soles of his sneakers. He made it look effortless. Deciding that he'd show off a little, Clint hit the edge of the flat roof at a dead run and jumped, curling his body into a ball he somersaulted twice before righting himself for a smooth landing on the opposite roof. With his knees bent he rolled in one fluid motion and was on his feet in the next instant, continuing his sprint uninterrupted.

Clint was sure he heard cheering from behind him and smiled; he would quite happily do this forever. As he neared the flag, he chanced a glance at Jones and saw that he was nearing the larger gaps now, meaning he'd have to use the fire escapes as the distance between the roofs were too far to simply jump over. As he was about to leap across to the second last roof top he heard Daniel calling out Jones' name in panicked voice. The teen stumbled slightly when he landed, turning his head in time to witness the other man ignoring the fire escapes and attempting to reach the opposite roof in one giant lurch. Barton could already tell Jones wasn't carrying enough momentum and without thinking twice he bounded as fast as he could to the other side where he found his opponent clinging desperately to the wall, muffled grunts escaping Jones as he struggled to pull himself up.

Skidding to halt at the edge of the roof, Clint wasted no time gripping the other man's wrist and pulling as hard as he could. "Come on, use your other hand."

The teen saw a spark of fear in Jones' dark gaze, and wondered whether he thought Barton was going to let him fall especially after what he'd done the day before. It was a testament to Phil's parenting skills that Clint wouldn't let some foolish incident change who he was: a selfless, warm hearted, compassionate individual who only wanted to do what was right. With a final almighty heave, both Clint and Jones found themselves in a familiar position, limbs tangled together although this time there were no punches being thrown.

The taller man gazed at the blond for a long moment, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He then did the unthinkable, he held out his hand waiting for the teen to accept his silent apology.

Clint tried to work out if this was some sort of trick. Seeing no signs of dishonesty, the teen returned the gesture with a grin of amusement, wondering what Phil was going to say to this strange turn of events.

"Everything okay up there?" Daniel called out.

"Yeah, Daniel. Everything's fine." Barton winced at the bruise already beginning to form on Jones' cheek, wondering how the other man hadn't fallen when he'd hit the side of the wall; pretty hard it seemed.

"I've got a hard head," Jones said, then added. "You know you could've let me fall, right?"

Barton shook his head. "No I couldn't. Even considering how much of a dick you were, I couldn't have let you fall. That's not the kind of person I am."

Jones couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing. This kid certainly had spunk, no one spoke to him like that, most didn't have the nerve, yet this teen stood before him with a cocky smirk and easy going attitude. "You know, you're all right kid. I'm sorry about the other day."

"Thanks."

"I'm Richard, but most people call me Rick."

"Can I call you Dick?" Clint joked.

The taller man glared mockingly. "Don't push it."

They made their way to the fire escape as it was the only way to get back to ground level, or at least it was for most people who weren't still bursting with uncontrollable energy. The teenager was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, an irresistible urge to demonstrate his mind-blowing skills.

Without another word Clint shot forward, and with both hands gripping the metal rail of the fire escape he jumped, his feet joining his hands on the rail before he sprang forward, leaping across the large expanse to the opposite fire escape. The weightless flight between buildings was just as exhilarating as ever. He managed to catch himself on the second floor landing, his fingers finding purchase on the metal grating. Manoeuvring his body toward the stairs he latched on to the top step and worked his way down until he could make the drop without injuring himself. He swung himself forward, releasing his grip from the bottom step and landed on the ground in a light crouch. A round of applause assaulting his ears as he stood to attention before his captive audience.

Daniel smiled, clapping the teen on the shoulder, a look of delight appearing on his face. The trainee agents seemed impressed, some of them congratulating the blond on a fantastic performance. There was one face that caught Clint's eye, the only one that held his complete attention; Phil. The older man stood near the back of the group, joy and pride displayed openly on his normally unreadable features. Coulson strolled forward, hands tucked into his pockets and stopped once he stood in front of the teen.

"I'm impressed." Phil acknowledged, giving Daniel a subtle nod of gratitude for looking out for his boy.

"Thanks." Barton beamed.

"I meant that you managed to keep out of trouble until I arrived," teased the older man.

Clint shot an incredulous glare at his dad, though his attempt to appear annoyed was overlooked as he couldn't stop his lips from turning upward in a satisfied smile.

Phil wrapped his arm around his son and started guiding him toward the door. "Come on kid, let's go celebrate."

Barton grinned, nodding his head in agreement. "Can we go get food first, I'm starving."

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, the agent followed Clint out the door. It was time to get out of here and resume the plans for the seventeen years olds birthday: food and car shopping.


	5. Chapter 5

Authors Note: Well here it is, the last chapter for Clint's seventeenth. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Thanks to kimbee for suggesting this one! I am currently working on the Christmas special and Clint's grandparent's coming to visit after his accident (16th birthday).

I am constantly awed at the kind words and encouragement you all give me, so thank you! To all those who reviewed the last chapter - Lollypops101, kimbee, sammygirl1963, Qweb, xxnuttynicxx, 101JRae, DBhawkguy30.

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Phil watched the kid in fascination as he managed to finish off his second enormous hot dog, while simultaneously licking the ice cream cone that continued to melt with the heat of the mid-day sun bearing down on them.

"Enjoying that are we?" the agent asked, tossing his left over hamburger and wrapper into the nearest trash can.

Clint's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets at the older man's actions.

"It was a small piece of burger bun, there was no meat left," Phil assured, shaking his head affectionately. "Calm yourself." _That kid and his stomach_, he thought. There really was no end to the amount Barton could consume or at the very least the older man hadn't bore witness to such an event, as of yet.

"Where to next?" Coulson asked as they strolled down the street. They'd already visited four car dealerships, none of which had any vehicle that stood out for the teenager. It looked like Clint was going to be a little picky when it came to his new ride. Phil wouldn't hold it against him though, he'd been pretty picky about his own car too.

Clint tilted his head to the side, worrying his bottom lip as he pondered where to go next. There were another two dealerships on this side of the street that they could still try. Any others they would have to drive to as they were situated on the other side of town. "Can we try these next two, then decide what to do if I don't see anything there?"

"Of course, kid. Whatever you want to do."

It only took them a couple of minutes to get there, a long line of gleaming cars greeting them at the entrance. Phil turned to ask the teen where he wanted to start only to find himself talking to thin air. Whirling about the agent spotted Clint leering at a particularly stunning looking black sports car. A Pontiac Firebird, if he wasn't mistaken.

"Dad, check this out!" Clint cried, waving his arms about frantically, somehow assuming that doing so would make the older man move faster.

"I see it kid. Very nice," Phil commented, giving the sleek black car a thorough once over with his attentive gaze. From the kid's inability to stand still and the beaming smile lighting up the teen's features, the older man was certain that this was the car Clint wanted.

"Can I help you?"

Coulson turned to face the sales man, a short, balding man with a kind smile. Phil held out his hand and smiled politely when the other man returned the gesture.

"Yes, I hope you can." The agent tipped his head in the teen's direction. "This is my son Clint, he's looking to get a new car."

"This one," Clint pointed out helpfully.

"Yes, well we'll have to see what sort of deal we can come to," Phil stated, then followed the shorter man inside to go over the figures while Clint stayed outside to drool over his 'new' car. The Fire Bird looked like the 1970's version. There were no visible marks that Clint could see and the wheels were spotless. Whoever had owned the car previously had treated her well. He'd get one of the mechanics from SHIELD to give the car a once over of course, but just from the looks of it, the car was pristine.

The teen spent a further ten minutes ogling the sporty ride before deciding he should join his dad inside. Just as he stepped away from the car he paused, the short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and Clint had the horrible feeling that he was being watched.

Looking over his shoulder, he spotted a man in a navy hoodie on the opposite side of the street. The hood was shielding the man's face, preventing Clint from getting a good look to see if he recognized him, but he swore he could feel the man's gaze studying him. Without warning the man in the hood looked up, his blue eyes locking with the teen's and Barton felt a shiver run through his entire body. It had been years, and if it hadn't been for the trademark Barton blue eyes, he'd never have recognized his own brother: Barney.

His feet were carrying him forward before he realised what was happening, then he was sprinting toward the road. Clint saw the bus coming and screeched to a halt, trying to keep his eyes on the older Barton. His heart was thumping in his chest at the thought of seeing his older brother again, though once the bus had passed there was no one there and the teenager had to work out whether his mind had been playing tricks on him or he had just observed his older brother watching him.

A hand on his shoulder had him whirling around with his fists clenched ready for a fight only to deflate at the familiar sight of Phil, his expression full of concern. The agent was immediately on alert. "What's wrong Clint?" he asked, his eyes darting around the immediate area.

"I thought….." Clint shook his head as if trying to dispel the image of his older sibling. "It's probably nothing, just my mind playing tricks on me."

"You sure?" the older man asked, seemingly unconvinced with the kid's explanation. It took quite a lot to rattle the teen these days and right now looking at his boy, it seemed as though Clint had spotted a ghost. His normally tanned skin had taken on an unhealthy pasty colour.

"Yeah," he said still sounding distracted.

Phil decided to change the subject by dangling the previously concealed car keys in front of the teenagers face, pleased when a beaming smile stretched over Clint's features.

"It's mine? Really?" the teen wandered around the car for the umpteenth time, breathless with new wonder. He could barely contain his excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he circled around her. He was thrilled with the knowledge that she now belonged to him and Clint was determined to take exceptional care of her.

Coulson just smiled. "Well let's take her for a spin and then I can answer that question with conviction."

"Sweet!" Barton caught the keys tossed toward him with ease, and slid into the driver's seat. He started her up, the loud rumble of the engine filling him with delight. Clint reflected on her beauty as he pulled out on to the main road. "Let's see how she runs."

Phil found himself wondering how on earth he was going to be able to come up with something better than this for Clint's eighteenth. That thought was pushed from his mind as the car turned sharply, the agent gripping the door handle for dear life and concluded that if the teen kept this up he might not have to worry about next year because they might just die in a car accident. It was playful reasoning and made the older man chuckle in amusement because he'd seen his boy driving and watched him complete the advanced driving course enabling him to handle trickier situations. With his love of fast cars and attempting feats that most people presumed would never be accomplished, Phil realised how much he and Clint were alike and it filled him with pride.

"Show me what this baby can do, kid." Phil saw surprise flitter across those blue eyes and felt his lips quirk.

"Aye, aye Captain."

Putting the pedal to the metal pinned both Clint and Phil to their seats with the force of the acceleration, the black sports car surging forward leaving nothing but a trail of dust rising behind them.

* * *

Clint manoeuvred his new car on to the driveway next to Phil's dark sedan; the agent's work car. Lola was kept well hidden from prying eyes, even certain agents within SHIELD were considered unworthy of seeing her greatness. The teen turned off the engine, relaxing back into his seat and decided to take a moment, his gaze roaming over the interior. There wasn't much that needed done to make her presentable, maybe just a few small additions to make her his own, as well as coming up with a name for her.

Movement outside caught his eye and he watched as his dad walked to the front door carrying three pizza boxes, balancing them on one hand while pulling his house keys from his pocket and entering the house. Clint was struck once again by just how lucky he was to have Phil as his dad. The older man had out done himself again and Barton had finally given up questioning why fate had brought him face to face with the agent. Molly had commented on many occasions that it wasn't just Clint who got something out of this relationship; Phil had been changed by it too. Apparently parenthood was all that was needed to bring the normally no nonsense, stoic, Phil Coulson out of his boring shell and into the kind, patient and sometimes sarcastic father he now was.

Thinking about his new family brought up the painful memories of his only living blood relative; Barney and his subsequent betrayal. It wasn't something the teen wanted to dwell on. Deep down Barton hoped that he hadn't really seen his older brother, that it was his subconscious tricking him because for the first time in a long time, Clint hadn't been thinking about Barney, where he was or what he was doing. Instead he'd been thinking how happy he was, and hoping that the warmth that spread through his entire being whenever Phil did something to show how much he loved the teen, would never fade.

"Clint? Are you coming inside or do I have to eat all the pizza myself?" Phil appeared at the passenger side of the car, one arm resting on the roof, a cheeky smile adorning his features.

"Yeah I'm coming." Barton got out of the car and shot the older man a daring grin. "I'd like to see you try, old man."

Phil chuckled, wrapping his arm around the teen and guiding him inside.

"I was thinking that next year I could get a motorcycle. What do you think, dad?"

Coulson froze mid step, his face paling drastically at the thought of his son riding a death trap on two wheels. The kid was already a speed freak, he really didn't need the added acceleration and speed that came from riding a bike. Maybe next year wasn't going to be as easy as Phil had hoped, although the more he thought about it, when had anything ever been easy for them?

The shit eating grin being directed at him told Phil that Clint was enjoying his reaction to his announcement. "Don't worry dad, I'd be extra careful on a bike."

"I'm sure you would, though I'd appreciate you holding off on that for a few years. I'd prefer not to go grey before I reach forty."

"You aren't forty already?" Clint asked innocently, his brow furrowed in mocking fashion.

"Cheeky," Phil replied, shoving the teen playfully toward the kitchen. "Go get us some juice and I'll divide up the pizza."

Clint's eyebrow arched in confusion. "I thought two were for me?"

"Yes, well that was before the wisecrack about my age."

Barton's attempt at a petted lip had the older man bursting out laughing. Phil gave in without much of a fight. "Fine, you can have the two."

"Yes!" With a fist pump in the air and a smile that brightened up the room, Coulson vowed that he would do everything in his power to make sure that sight never dwindled. The image of his son happy was worth more than gold and nothing would take that away from him.

"Happy birthday, Clint."

"Thanks dad."

* * *

The hooded figure stepped inside the small rented apartment, shrugging off his dark hoodie and throwing it over the back of the sofa. He didn't acknowledge the other man in the room, simply headed toward the practically bare kitchen and opened the fridge to pull himself out a bottle of beer.

A frustrated grunt sounded from the blond haired man standing by the window. "I thought you said to keep ourselves hidden. That he wasn't to see you?"

"Yeah, well I changed my mind." Barney took a swig from the bottle, then set it down on the counter top with a bang. "Besides, he probably didn't even recognise me. My little brother is living it up with his new dad now. He won't be thinking about me, Derek."

Derek arched an eyebrow at the elder Barton. "I thought you said this wouldn't be a problem? That you could handle being close to him. Why don't I just ask him the question and get it over with?"

"No!" Barney yelled, his fist gripping the bottle so tightly his knuckles had turned white. "He isn't to know, I don't want him involved in any of this, Derek. It's part of the reason I left him at the orphanage in the first place."

"Then what are we going to do? Just continue watching him?" The younger man paced around the small confines of the living room, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. "What if Malcom finds out that it's your brother that knows where his money is?"

Barney sighed. "The problem is I'm pretty sure my little brother doesn't know anything, or at least isn't aware of knowing the location, but for right now we keep watch. Clint doesn't need to know that our parents weren't the people we thought they were, that they were criminals and stole something that belonged to a very powerful, well connected psychopath."

"Then what do we do?"

"We keep doing what we were doing, try to find it without involving my brother. If Malcolm does come looking then we might have no choice but to involve Clint, though that's only worst case scenario. Alright?" he asked his companion, yet the younger man knew it was more of an order than suggestion.

Derek nodded glumly. "Fine, but it's been nine years Barney. Don't you think it's time to involve your younger brother? Maybe he does know, maybe he can tell us something that will help us. Would that not be easier?"

"Easier; yes. Put Clint in danger; definitely. We're doing this my way, Derek. If you have a problem with that," he gestured toward the door. "There's the door."

"Alright, Barney." The young blond conceded, moving to flop down on the sofa. He gazed up at the older man with a frown. "So what do you think '_Locksley_' is, how is it connected to your brother and why would your parents hide it there?"

Barney Barton shook his head slowly, pulling the crumpled up paper from his pocket with surprising gentleness. He read over the words for what seemed like the millionth time, more than certain he could recite the entire letter the amount of times he'd read it, yet holding the paper in his hands made him feel like he still had something of his parents, an anchor that kept him from drowning in a sea of despair. He'd lost his parents to a tragic accident, an existence he wouldn't wish upon anyone, but he'd chose to walk out on his little brother and with that decision Barney had shattered their bond, leaving Clint all alone.

He wasn't sure Clint would ever forgive him. Wasn't sure he deserved to be pardoned, though in his defence, he'd believed he was doing the right thing. Barney hadn't wanted to drag his younger brother around with him searching for answers, and after all that he'd been through, the people he'd encountered, he was content with his decision.

The elder Barton's vision blurred unexpectedly and he swiped a hand over his face, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat. Lifting his head, his blue gaze locked on the calendar hanging on the wall opposite.

"Happy birthday, Clint."

The End.

* * *

Dun...dun...duuuun. Bet you didn't see that one coming lol Barney's back!

Once again, I just want to say thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it really means a lot. I will be continuing this series, as well as a few other stories not connected to this universe I've created, and perhaps a few others not from this fandom. I hope to get them written as quickly as I can but I won't put a timescale on it, just a promise to do my best not to make you all wait too long. ;)

Thanks again!

weemcg


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